


Blackmail

by oh_mr_adams



Category: 1776 (1972), 1776 - Edwards/Stone
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, One Shot, dilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 01:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13964058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_mr_adams/pseuds/oh_mr_adams
Summary: Another hot, boring, uneventful day in Congress. Hope Rutledge doesn't take his shirt off.





	Blackmail

James Wilson rested his head in his arms, the Philadelphia heat begging him to take off his coat. He was too lazy to comply though and instead gave a muffled, shaky sigh into the table, closing his eyes in hopes it would make the time go faster. He budged slightly, removing his pocket watch from its designated pocket and flipped it open under the table, watching the seconds tick by no faster than they always did. He wanted to groan in misery but couldn’t find the energy. He was tired, overheated and hungry, silently lamenting over how he managed to land the worst possible job in existence. At least McNair had something to do. His silent misery, however, was interrupted, as he felt slender, strong fingers tapping against his thigh. He shot up with a start, his grey eyes wide with alarm. A chorus of quiet laughter ran through those who’d seen it.   
  
He turned quickly, to the Pennsylvania delegate beside him, who now seemed quite startled by James’ sudden jump. John retracted his hand back to the table, an embarrassed look in his eyes. James coughed nervously into his hand.   
  
“Are you alright, James?” John asked after a moment of silence. James nodded shakily, making awkward eye contact.   
  
“Yes, yes, I’m fine, just…” John perked up at James’ uncertainty.  
  
“Are you ill? Do you want to go home?” He asked hurriedly, evidently concerned. James smiled wistfully.  
  
“Well yes, I would like nothing more than to go home,” he paused, “But no. I’m fine. Just tired.” A look of relief briefly passed over John’s face, as he resumed his usual relaxed position.  
  
“Tell me about it.” James gave a nod of agreement, gazing over the room. The heat was worse than usual today, and it was clearly having an effect on the delegates. At least nobody was fighting, James mused. Most delegates had discarded their coats, draped them lazily over chairs, and James only prayed it wouldn’t get any hotter, lest Mr. Rutledge be inspired to take his shirt off. James finally, at the call of the sweat beading on his neck, removed his coat and placed it on the table in a neatly folded pile, a makeshift pillow. He had almost gone to sleep again, before Dickinson tapped rhythmically on his thigh again, causing James to lift his head up once more, much less startled this time. Still, John refused to look at him, scratching his cheek and staring down at the table. James raised an eyebrow in sleepy confusion.  
  
“James…” John said quietly, burying his nervousness in discomfort, “I… need you for something.” James sat up, scratching the back of his head.  
  
“Oh?” he mumbled. John still didn’t look at him, but stiffly stood up from his chair, stepping behind it and pushing it under the table. Eventually, he glanced over at James, who still sat numbly, and gave him a pointed look. James shook himself awake, hurriedly following John’s footsteps as he left the room, making a sharp left into the hall. None of the delegates seemed to notice him, and the ones who might have didn’t seem to care as James followed him with bemusement.  
  
Stepping out into the nearly empty hallway, he noticed John hurriedly pacing, with embarrassed frustration. Noticing James, John stiffly waved for him to follow, his arms straight at his sides, hands balled into fists, until he stood outside of the door of an unremarkable broom closet, his foot tapping against the floor as he waited for James to follow. James stood on the opposite side of the door, staring up at him in dumb confusion.  
  
“John what are we-” cutting him off, John swung open the closet door.   
  
“In,” He ordered. James, confused but characteristically obedient stepped inside of the dark closet, nearly knocking over a broom with his elbow. He stood there, leaning against the far wall, as John entered behind him, his cheeks red and his bright eyes darting back and forth. That was all James could see, before John closed the door behind him, covering the two in pitch darkness, save for the small strip of light from under the door.   
  
“John,” James asked, confused but not frightened, “What in god’s name are we doing?” His voice was quiet and calm, but nervousness still roiled in John’s stomach as he shifted his weight awkwardly. He didn’t respond, and James grew concerned. It was highly unlike John Dickinson to not be speaking. James opened his mouth to speak again, but wasn’t given the chance as he felt John’s hands on his hips, pulling him in to a sudden kiss. James gave a muffled yelp of panic, but it quickly melted into a quiet moan of pleasure as he felt John’s tongue on his, his strong, slender fingers sliding under his shirt, exploring his soft skin. John’s breathing grew heavy, and James closed his eyes reflexively, not as though it made much of a difference in the darkness. His hands gripped John’s back and pulled himself in closer, wanting to feel nothing more than John’s tongue in his mouth and his breath on his face. James’ eyes peaked open slightly and he was blinded.  
  
The door was open and the two men immediately pulled away with a gasp, only to see the familiar face of the congressional custodian, searching through the closet for something. His eyes lit up as he grabbed the broom James had nearly knocked over before.   
  
“Mr. McNair,” John growled shakily. James was in too much shock to make a sound, “What in god’s name are you doing in here?”   
  
McNair looked up at him with a glare. “I really don’t think you should be the one asking that, Mr. Dickinson.” Dickinson’s entire face flushed red, and James would have laughed in amusement if he weren’t still in shock. He walked out, broom in hand, before turning back to them. He gave a shrug, full intent in his mind on using this for future blackmail. “Ignore me, I didn’t see anything” 

**Author's Note:**

> From a Tumblr prompt, “Ignore me, I didn’t see anything”


End file.
